


hair-trigger

by greatcatsbys



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Butch/Femme, Established Relationship, F/F, Gun Kink, Military Jargon, Semi-Public Sex, Weapons Kink, biggest butch in the outlands gets railed within an inch of her life: more at 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28852620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greatcatsbys/pseuds/greatcatsbys
Summary: Loba distracts, misleads; Bangalore follows, executes. Bait and switch. They work in quiet synchronicity, in the way only women who know each other’s bodies can.
Relationships: Loba Andrade/Bangalore | Anita Williams
Comments: 7
Kudos: 61





	hair-trigger

**Author's Note:**

> loba goes down on anita while she's taking sniper shots. that's it. that's the entire fic.
> 
> have tagged for depictions of violence to be on the safe side, but it's nothing more explicit than stuff in-game

They don’t get paired together often these days.

It’s something about _competition_ , about writing a compelling narrative for the cameras. When competitors are coupled, ratings drop. The Syndicate wants drama, not romance; sacrifice, not affection. This is the case, anyway, until Loba gets a call from a secure line at four in the goddamn morning, not so politely requesting the presence of her and her girlfriend on the dropship at nine.

_You and your lady against the rest o’ those cunts, what’cha say? Spice it up a bit._

Bangalore’s a six-am riser; her, not so much. For double credits, Loba agrees. 

Bangalore never gives the cameras anything. It’s not what she’s there for; has never been one for show or excess to any degree, is certainly not going to change her attitude almost two years in. Her discipline is a tried and tested route to victory, the occasional quip and bombast reserved for when her tactician’s mind _knows_ the win is in touching distance.

Loba, however, is different. Always brimming with emotion, always swaying her hips against the camera, always twisting the knife with a flourish. A thief, prestigious and untouchable, draped in fineries from head to toe. They make a formidable team, on the few occasions they’re together. Loba distracts, misleads; Bangalore follows, executes. Bait and switch. They work in quiet synchronicity, in the way only women who know each other’s bodies _can_.

Their affection in the Ring is subtle, in the way Loba’s hands linger a little too long as they attach synthetic armour to Bangalore’s tunic, in the way Bangalore’s studs are new with a sheen of platinum. Affection, followed by single-minded destruction. They slaughter five other squads of three, send them to medbay to be respawned by lines of code. 

Eventually, they make it to the endgame; _a Mexican standoff_ , Bangalore dramatically calls it, which makes Loba roll her eyes. Two squads remaining, of which they are one, with the Ring still acres wide. 

‘Been a god damn bloodbath, this one,’ Bangalore says, stretches her legs out. ‘Dropship full of FNGs.’

‘Mm, perhaps,’ Loba says, as they set up in the shelter above Hammond Labs, the highest vantage point Bangalore can find on the map. ‘Not like you to complain about an easy win.’

‘When Blisk pitched us as a duo in a trios match, I expected a little more _competition_ ,’ Bangalore says. ‘Can’t help being this fuckin’ good.’

‘Think of it as a compliment, darling,’ Loba says, scavenges a better stock for her rifle from her market with some fresh ammunition for Bangalore. ‘Another trophy for my case.’

A siren sounds, the telltale sign that the Ring is moving, and even as the orange glow emerges over the horizon with a metallic hum, they still have a good ten minutes. This is the part where commentators zone out, Loba knows, where they place a strategic advert break before the final showdown, before the Champions emerge from viscera and blood.

‘And now we wait,’ Bangalore says, paces back and forth across the shelter, boots loud against steel floor.

‘Now we wait,’ Loba echoes, watches her frenetic, impatient girlfriend. She makes a show of busying herself, adjusting her bracelets, her hair, all the while calculating the odds of talking Bangalore into some uncharacteristic recklessness.

‘You’ve got everything you need?’

Bangalore reloads her pistol, checks the pockets of her utility belt.

‘Ready to rock.’

Loba nods approvingly, eyes bright with the copper-red of her armour.

‘What if you spent the next ten minutes on something more interesting than twiddling your thumbs?’

Bangalore pauses, almost glares at Loba as she twirls one of her braids round her finger, smiling enigmatically. 

‘Loba -’

‘Don’t tell me you hadn’t thought about it,’ Loba says, more forward, more deliberate in her lowest, huskiest voice, and dismantles her market, the silver light disappearing into shards. She takes her cane and strokes it teasingly against the curve of Bangalore’s thighs, lifts up her tunic to expose a slither of skin.

‘Bloodsport not enough of a thrill for you?’ Bangalore asks, all hard consonants as she does when she grasps for control that isn’t hers. ‘Want a whole new way to get us killed?’

‘If I remember rightly, beautiful,’ Loba says, reaching forward to drape her arms around her girlfriend’s waist, ‘it was _your_ idea to begin with.’

‘In _theory_ ,’ Bangalore says, her face significantly more flushed than earlier. ‘It’s different in the field.’

Loba stares at her with the determination that Bangalore recognises as _want_ ; when Loba wants something, she is single-minded in pursuit, be it for jewels or revenge or people. It is magnificent and terrifying in equal measure, and even though Bangalore is no stranger to being on the receiving end of it, it still makes her palms itch.

‘The _field_ ,’ Loba says with a low chuckle. ‘Listen to you. This is a game, beautiful. No stakes, except your pride. You don’t want to have some fun before fighting for your life?’

‘You sound like Silva,’ Bangalore retorts.

‘Well, now I’m definitely _not_ interested,’ Loba says, grinning. It’s infectious, and with Loba laughing into her taller girlfriend’s back, even Bangalore cannot feign stoicism for long. Loba kisses the back of her neck where skin meets close-cropped hair, at the juncture where her collarbone meets broad shoulders.

‘Would it help,’ Loba whispers, her hands possessive against the small of Bangalore’s back, ‘if you thought of it as target practice?’

_Well, damn._ That hits a spot.

Bangalore hesitates for a moment too long, long enough for Loba to plant a series of increasingly fierce kisses against her neck, her jaw. It’s distracting and sends desire down Bangalore’s body, lightning-fast, and suddenly Bangalore is nodding brusquely, is whispering _yes, gods, let’s do it_.

Loba grins, an almost predatory glint to her features as she draws back, rubs her thumb delicately over Bangalore’s lower lip.

‘Better load that rifle for me, Sergeant.’

Bangalore shakes her head, but concedes the point, reloading her Kraber with a fresh cartridge. Loba watches in quiet admiration, drinking in Bangalore’s practiced hands, the ease with which she adjusts the barrel, mouth quirking in approval at the machinery.

‘Twenty-two inch barrel, stainless steel,’ Bangalore says, smirking. ‘She’s a beauty.’

‘Mm, I love it when you talk technical,’ Loba says, ‘but if you want this to happen today, you might need to pick up the pace, ah?’

‘Solid copy,’ Bangalore says, her smirk growing wider as she slings the rifle over her shoulder, takes the stance with her legs wide apart. She places her eye to the sight, adjusts the optics, and _there_ on the horizon is the other squad, the tell-tale glint of Gibraltar’s shield bright orange against the greenery. 

‘Firing for effect,’ Bangalore says, and breathes into the shot, catches the ground feet away from the team huddling within the dome shield, their shocked reaction instantaneous. Loba spots her over her shoulder, and hums in amusement.

‘Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to play with your food?’ Loba asks, her hands slipping under Bangalore’s tunic, to toy with the waistband of Bangalore’s trousers. 

‘Could ask you the _same thing_ , Lo,’ she says, impatient. Loba’s hands are warm against her abdomen, warmer still as she unzips Bangalore’s trousers, slips a hand against Bangalore’s dark underwear. ‘Ring’s closin’ in five, and -’

Bangalore stifles a gasp as Loba crouches to pull her trousers past her thighs in one swift motion, follows suit with her boxers. The fabric catches in her knee guards, and Loba laughs, unfastening the clasps and pushing them down to her ankles.

‘So many _layers_ , honestly -’ Loba says, laughing into the warmth of Bangalore’s thigh. ‘Carry on, shooter. Don’t you want to earn it?’

Bangalore scowls in frustration, but cues up another shot. The shield is down, and she can see Gibraltar darting in and out of the rooms at Estates. She waits for a moment, for a more reliable hit; but then, just as she has a clear shot, Loba rubs a delicate circle against her clit, and Bangalore feels her breath catch in her chest, the stock slipping from her quaking shoulders.

‘Fuck,’ Bangalore hisses, and Loba hums, simply continues to tease, slipping a finger inside her. Bangalore is embarrassingly soaked already if the ease of Loba’s movements is anything to go by, and she bites down on her lip as Loba curls the finger inside her, teasing Bangalore’s clit with her thumb.

‘Damn, that feels good,’ Bangalore whispers. ‘Can’t believe you cut your nails -’

‘You’re the only girl I’ll ever cut my nails for, _minha linda_ ,’ Loba says, rolling her eyes drily. ‘Now come on! Focus. You know the rules, don’t you? You don’t get a headshot, you don’t get to cum.’

Bangalore swallows, heat rising to her cheeks, stomach tense. They’d talked about this for _weeks_ beforehand, the kind of fantasy that Loba begs for in desperate whispers as Anita fucks her, the kind of fantasy that makes Loba drop her coffee cup when Anita brings it up oh-so-casually over breakfast. That works when it’s just the two of them, and Bangalore is simply _Anita_ , simply pressing her girlfriend’s buttons because she’s terrible, and because she _can_.

‘Unless, of course,’ Loba says, lips soft against Bangalore’s thigh, ‘you don’t think you’re up to it -’

The heat in Bangalore’s face grows stronger, a familiar steely will growing in the base of her stomach. You don’t get to First Class without the drive, without the competitiveness, and Bangalore snarls, grabs Loba’s hand fiercely as she pushes her girlfriend’s fingers into her cunt.

‘Watch me,’ Bangalore snaps, resumes her position with a renewed determination. Loba grins, cat-like, at the satisfaction of finding a few buttons of her own.

Bangalore places her eye to the sight, breathes deep, measured breaths as Loba strokes her, slick heat as she moves her fingers from Bangalore’s opening to her clit. Gibraltar is exposed, still weaving through Estates, and Bangalore aims, hisses through her teeth as she fires. The recoil hits her badly, her shoulders too tense, and she sighs in pent-up frustration as Loba finally, _finally_ licks a teasing stroke against her clit.

__

The shot is enough to knock through armour, the gold synthetic shield disappearing as he clasps at his shoulder, bleeding profusely down his arm shield. It’s not a knockdown, and it’s certainly not a headshot, and Loba laughs against Bangalore’s cunt, teasingly strokes her thighs.

__

‘What’s the damage?’ Loba asks.

__

‘One twenty-five,’ Bangalore says, stutters as Loba leaves open-mouthed kisses against her inner thighs. 

__

‘You can do better than that, beautiful,’ Loba says. ‘Show me why they made you Sergeant.’

__

The words send a thrill down Bangalore’s spine, stoking a fiery possessiveness of her station that makes her re-focus. She re-positions herself, opens her legs wider and holds the rifle tight with pale-knuckled hands.

__

Below her, Loba has three fingers inside her, her tongue licking long stripes against her clit in the way Loba knows makes her come apart, all teasing, all build-up. Loba’s mouth makes filthy, wet noises against her, and her delighted hums go straight to Bangalore’s cunt, forcing her to bite down harder to stop from crying out. Bangalore steels herself, thinks of this as a high-pressure situation like any other; under fire, in the trenches, a solo drop with nothing but a P2020 for cover. 

__

Bolstered, Bangalore places her eye to the sight for a third time, sees the team in its entirety. Gibraltar is hooked up to Lifeline’s healing drone, its familiar blue glint against the window, with Wattson placing fences around the perimeter of the apartment. The squad has chosen a position with a good vantage point, very central; and from their position above Labs, very easy to exploit. 

__

Breathing deep as Loba curls her tongue inside her, Bangalore aims, has two shots chambered and ready to fire. The first is at Gibraltar, once again hitting him in the shoulder, and she snarls with frustration, both at the miss and at Loba’s mouth pulling away from her. 

__

‘Loba,’ Bangalore tries, fucks herself as best she can against Loba’s fingers. ‘I’m close -’

__

' _Again_ ,’ Loba says plainly, smiling as she flicks her tongue against Bangalore’s clit with a flourish. ‘You can do it for _me_ , can’t you?’

__

Bangalore swears under her breath, her palms clammy and face flushed. Her heart pounds in her ears, the pressure building in her cunt almost intolerable as she writhes against Loba’s beautiful mouth, against the fullness of her fingers. Bangalore closes her eyes for a split-second, wanting to lose herself in the touch. The way Loba’s free hand strokes against her lower back is almost gentle, reassuring; unlike the possessiveness of earlier, it feels kind.

__

Loba wants her to succeed. Loba wants her to _win_.

__

Fingers shaking around the trigger, Bangalore aims her second shot for Wattson, bending down as she places a fence against the doorframe. The door is open. The sight is clear. 

__

Bangalore swallows a breath, and fires.

__

It pierces Wattson’s helmet with a terrifying grace, a bullet straight through the head with lethal precision. Dark blood pools against her grey hood as she collapses, her body lifeless as Gibraltar and Lifeline rush to her in horror.

__

Bangalore cries out in triumph.

__

‘Good girl,’ Loba coos, ‘What’s your damage?’

__

‘Two-fifty,’ Bangalore pants, voice hitching desperately in her chest as Loba pistons fingers inside her. ‘Two-fifty - fuck, Lo, _please_ -’

__

Loba fucks her with her fingers, with her mouth; alternates her thumb and her tongue on Bangalore's clit the way she likes, the way that makes her cry out and beg for it. Bangalore's thighs quake, and she falls against the window, rifle clattering against the wall. She can smell spent gunpowder on her hands, on her tunic as she buries her head in her chest and _moans_ , moans into the sensation of Loba finally, _finally_ showing mercy and letting her cum, the pressure and the tension and the blood all rolling into a sharp, overwhelming pleasure.

__

‘Cum for Mama,’ Loba purrs, fingers drenched inside her, and Bangalore does, comes shuddering with a muffled cry, shoulders barely holding her as she quakes against the window. Her breath is loud in her ears, and Loba is quick to stand and hold her, quick to plant reassuring kisses against Bangalore’s neck.

__

Bangalore catches her breath, wipes her brow with her coarse sleeve. She exhales, and laughs a giddy, unfiltered laugh as the pressure finally lifts, as the tension finally erodes. 

__

‘As good as you hoped for?’ she asks Loba, shuffling her boxers back up her legs.

__

‘Oh, a _thousand_ times better,’ Loba says, rubs her mouth. ‘I’ll be thinking about it later, trust me.’

__

‘Cocky son-of-a-bitch,’ Bangalore says, refastening her trousers. ‘You’re lucky I’m as good a marksman as I say I am.’

__

‘And you’re lucky I’m such a bad influence,' Loba quips. 'I’ll make a real criminal out of you yet.’

__

Bangalore smiles, cheek to cheek.

__

‘Your lipstick’s ruined,’ she quips.

__

‘Ruin it some more, then,’ Loba says, kisses Bangalore deeply with a needy moan. Bangalore tastes herself on Loba's tongue and smiles, teases Loba against her form-fitting leggings, feels her shudder at the touch.

__

‘Later, beautiful,’ Bangalore says, strokes Loba’s face. ‘I promise.’

__

‘Oh, I can _wait_ ,’ Loba says, scowling. ‘Didn’t fuck a headshot out of you just for _second place_.’

__

Bangalore howls with laughter, kisses Loba on her forehead.

__

‘Damn, I love you.'

__

‘Love you too, _amor_ ,’ she says, and with a wink and a flick of her bracelet, she is outside, pistol in hand.

__

Bangalore shakes her head in amusement; stows her rifle, disappears into a wall of smoke.

__

**Author's Note:**

> this was not supposed to be my maiden voyage into apex fic!! i am working on a much longer fic for a Very Tiny Apex Pairing, but this horny brainworm emerged yesterday and now i present it to you. i can only apologise.
> 
> also sorry for killing wattson. she's my daughter it's allowed
> 
> :)


End file.
